Keeping It In
by Penny-in-the-sky
Summary: ”Ron, you are the most insensitive wart I have ever had the misfortune to meet.” Were there hidden reasons behind Hermione's harshness? **Complete**
1. Part 1

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Keeping it in

Author's note: This is just a short pointless little thing I decided on writing. I haven't worked on it a lot, so forgive any faults. I just felt, when I read this particular sequence (where Harry comes back after having been "cornered" by Cho) in OotP, I felt that Hermione was being pretty hard on Ron. And I figured there had to be something more to tell… Anyway, this first part is Ron's POV, then I'll be doing a second part where Hermione gets to tell _her _side of things. And I'll actually try to finish this fic before starting on any others, which I have a tendency on doing. If anyone is still patiently waiting for the continuations of my other stories, they're coming, I'm working on them, it's just taking a veeeery loooong time… But hopefully, this story will be an exception, as it only took me a couple of hours to write this first part. Let's keep our fingers crossed :)

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Disclaimer: Besides ruling the universe, JK Rowling owns everything connected to Harry Potter. And, yes, 99% of the dialogue in this fic is her words, not mine. Which you've probably already noticed. The song lyrics belong to the wonderful Brendan Benson, they're from his song "What". I thought they were quite fitting. :)

~*~

"What are you trying to do to me?  
I close my eyes, I don't want to see  
I don't want to hear about you and him  
I don't want to know if it's love that you're in  
'Cause you can't possibly be serious about him, girl  
And he's got to be delirious if he thinks he can win  
With a not-so-pretty face  
He's come to take my place  
She's easily amused  
And I know 'cause she fell for the same tricks  
I once used"

~*~_  
_

Ron stared at his parchment, his mind completely blank. He'd only managed five inches so far, and McGonnagall had demanded at least a foot and a half on the procedure of turning insects into kitchen appliances. He was never going to be able to complete it in time, at least not at the pace he was currently keeping. If only it wasn't so bloody _boring…_

He looked around, desperate for someone to help him out. But the only fifth-years in the Common Room at the moment were Lavender and Parvati, and he'd be damned if he'd approach them while they were giggling like maniacs over some magazine. He frowned. Where had Hermione gone? She'd disappeared up the staircase to the girls' dormitories a while ago, but she'd said she'd be right back, and it had been at least ten minutes since he'd last seen her.

And _where_ was Harry? He hadn't come back from the DA meeting yet, and Ron couldn't imagine what he was off doing. He'd seemed ready to go when they'd left the room. But then again… Hadn't Cho stayed behind as well? Ron snickered to himself. Even if Harry was his best mate, it was rather entertaining to see him act like a complete nutter sometimes. And that was what he tended to do whenever Cho was around.

"Aren't you done yet?"

Ron looked up at Hermione's frowning face. She was carrying a roll of fresh parchment and a fancy-looking quill. "Sure I am, I'm just redoing it 'cause it's such a bloody laugh," Ron replied.

"Hmph." Hermione placed herself in the armchair, dipped the nib of her quill in her inkpot and started writing.

"What are you writing?" Ron asked, propping himself up on one elbow and studying her.

"A letter," she answered, without taking her eyes off the parchment.

Ron narrowed his eyes, before returning his gaze to the unfinished Transfiguration-essay in front of him. A _letter. _He could only guess whom to. But he wouldn't make a big deal out of it, wouldn't pretend he cared. 'Cause he didn't care. Not at all. He just hated the idea of her writing letters to _him_, and even more the idea of him writing her back. He could only imagine what they were like: _"Dear Herm-own-ninny, I miss you and I wish you will visit me in Bulgaria next summer, I want very much to see you again and show you my home…" _Ron shuddered at the mere thought of it. There would be no visits to Bulgaria, not unless he could help it. But then again, it was hardly as if he could do anything about it, if she really wanted to go. She'd proved her will power to him more than once. 

He glanced over at her. She was writing fiercely and her hair was falling into her face. Didn't that bother her? She should brush it away, tuck it behind her ear or something. But before he could get too pre-occupied with where Hermione's hair should go, he remembered the essay waiting to be finished. He sighed, returning his attention to it. It was hopeless. He was drained of words and it felt like he was incapable of forming another written sentence tonight. But he _had _to. Forcing himself to think, he pressed his fingers to his temples and shut his eyes. And he was just about to get somewhere with his train of thought when Hermione spoke to him.

"Is it difficult?"

Ron dropped his hands, sighing again, this time not as much at the homework itself as at having been interrupted when he was actually getting somewhere. 'Cause he couldn't keep on thinking of Transfiguration when Hermione was talking to him and studying him, which he could feel her doing.

"A bit," he said. "And I _know _I should have begun earlier, I know I have no one to blame but myself, it's just…" He rubbed at his sore eyes. "It's just that it's so unbe_liev_ably, _horr_ibly, in_cred_ibly boring." He stared at the blur of words in front of him, almost amazed at their inability to awaken his interest.

"Hm."

He looked over at her, and to his surprise she seemed to be suppressing a smile.

"Yes, well… we can't be excited by everything, can we?" she said, and Ron's stomach did a strange flip-flop as her eyes glittered with badly hid amusement. "That, if anything, would be strenuous."

She dipped the nib of her quill in the inkpot. "And considering your extreme fascination with Quidditch," she continued as she carried on writing, "I'm not surprised that you, and Harry for that matter, tend to find the academic aspects of school rather dull."

"That's the understatement of the year," Ron muttered, picking up his quill for the tenth time. "I wouldn't be surprised if one of these ruddy essays will end up boring me to death."

Hermione snorted, then went quiet. He could hear the frantic rasping of her quill. _She _wasn't having any trouble getting the words out. Apparently there were a lot of things Krum needed to know. Annoyed, he poked at the parchment with his quill, making several holes in it. For some reason this gave him some satisfaction, and he could carry on with his essay.

A few minutes passed where the two of them sat in silence. Then Ron heard someone stumble through the portrait-hole and looked up. Harry had entered the common room, looking dazed. He wandered over to them and slumped down in the armchair next to Hermione's, but didn't say anything.

"What kept you?" Ron asked, confused by the strange look on Harry's face.

Harry gave no answer; he just stared ahead of him. Ron glanced at Hermione, who was eyeing Harry with raised eyebrows.

"Are you all right, Harry?" she asked.

Harry shrugged, still not saying anything. By now, Ron was intrigued. What could have happened to have made Harry completely speechless? He propped himself up on his elbow to study his friend. "What's up?" he said, hoping he didn't sound too curious. "What's happened?"

Harry opened his mouth, as if preparing to speak, then closed it again. He kept his eyes firmly on the fire.

Hermione looked at him with narrowed eyes for a moment before speaking. "Is it Cho?" she demanded. "Did she corner you after the meeting?" 

Ron raised his eyebrows, studying Harry even more intently for a reaction. He'd forgotten about Cho staying behind…

Harry looked at Hermione, then away again, before nodding. Ron couldn't help himself – he gave a little snigger, but went silent when Hermione glared at him. He looked over at Harry, struggling to act casual. "So, er, what did she want?"

"She –" Harry's voice was rather hoarse, so he cleared his throat. "She, er –"

"Did you kiss?"

Hermione's question caused Ron to sit bolt upright, spilling out the entire contents of his inkbottle in the process. "Well?" he said, urging Harry to answer.

Harry glanced at him, then at Hermione, and then he gave the tiniest of nods.

"Ha!" Ron couldn't stop himself – he punched at the air with his fist before bursting out laughing. This was just _too much._ He had suspected something like this would happen sooner or later, but hadn't been ready for the hilarity of it when it finally came. Hermione was looking at him like he was something utterly vile, but he didn't care. It was just too, too much.

By now Harry was grinning as well, and Ron felt it was safe to squeeze some information out of him. "Well?" he asked. "How was it?"

Harry thought for a moment. "It was… wet."

Ron raised his eyebrows, stunned, and snorted with suppressed laughter. _Wet? _Well, that was just charming.

"Because she was crying," Harry clarified, and Ron stopped grinning. 

"Oh," he said. "Are you that bad at kissing?"

Harry suddenly looked rather concerned. "Dunno," he said, as if considering the possibility for the first time. "Maybe I am."

"Of course you're not." 

Ron's head snapped towards Hermione, who was still writing. Something dark and unsettling landed in his stomach. "How do you know?" he demanded, worried about what answer he was going to get. There were a lot of terrible things that could happen, and finding out that his two best friends had snogged behind his back would certainly be one of them.

"Because Cho spends half her time crying these days," Hermione replied, and Ron breathed a silent sigh of relief that her answer wasn't the least bit shocking. "She does it at mealtimes, in the loos, all over the place."

Ron found himself grinning again. "You'd think a bit of kissing would cheer her up," he said.

Hermione snorted, not taking her eyes off the parchment. "Ron, you are the most insensitive wart I have ever had the misfortune to meet."

Ron looked at her, feeling stung. Did she really think so? "What's that supposed to mean?" he asked, struggling to sound offended as opposed to hurt. "What sort of person cries while someone's kissing them?"

He looked at Harry for support, and was glad when he got it. "Yeah," Harry said, looking pained. "Who does?"

Hermione looked at the two of them as if they were five years old. "Don't you understand how Cho's feeling at the moment?"

"No," Harry and Ron replied in unison.

Hermione sighed, putting down her quill for the first time. "Well, obviously, she's feeling very sad, because of Cedric dying. Then I expect she's feeling confused, because she liked Cedric and now she likes Harry, and she can't work out who she likes best. Then she'll be feeling guilty, thinking it's an insult to Cedric's memory to be kissing Harry at all, and she'll be worrying about what everyone else might say about her if she starts going out with Harry. And she probably can't work out what her feelings towards Harry are, anyway, because he was the one who was with Cedric when Cedric died, so that's all very mixed up and painful. Oh, and she's afraid she's going to be thrown off the Ravenclaw Quidditch team because she's been flying so badly."

When Hermione was finished, Ron couldn't help but stare at her, amazed. How did she know all that? Could she really read people's thoughts and feelings that well? Ron's stomach tied itself into a tight knot as he considered this. If Hermione could deduce so well what _Cho_ was feeling, then what wouldn't she be able to figure out about _other _people's feelings? People who were much closer to her…

He willed himself not to think about this alarming possibility. Instead he said, "One person can't feel all that at once, they'd explode." He really thought they would. He knew all about having mixed up feelings flying about inside of him, and sometimes it really felt as if he _would _explode from the sheer pressure of it.

"Just because you've got the emotional range of a teaspoon doesn't mean we all have," Hermione replied and picked up her quill again.

There it was again. What was _with _her? What had he done? If anybody knew about emotional turmoil, it was _him_, and if she had _any _idea… He swallowed, looking down at his parchment. He wouldn't think about that. Not right now.

"She was the one who started it," Harry said, and for a moment Ron was confused. Who? Who started it? Then he remembered Cho. "I wouldn't've…" Harry continued, "She just sort of came at me, and next thing she's crying all over me – I didn't know what to do…"

Ron looked at him sympathetically. "Don't blame you, mate." Crying girls hardly tickled his fancy, either.

"You just had to be nice to her," Hermione said, looking concerned. "You were, weren't you?"

Harry blushed. "Well, I sort of… patted her on the back a bit."

This seemed, to Ron, like the perfect way to handle it. It was what he would have done in the same situation, and he was about to say as much, but one look at Hermione told him that she didn't agree, and he kept quiet. "Well, I suppose it could've been worse," she said, her tone implying that she hardly thought so. "Are you going to see her again?"

Harry shrugged. "I'll have to, won't I? We've got DA meetings, haven't we?"

"You know what I mean," Hermione said, sounding frustrated.

Harry didn't answer. He just stared at the fire, his expression one of pure terror. Ron could imagine how he was feeling. Asking someone out was a pretty big deal. He himself had never done it (well, unless he counted that time he'd made a complete arse out of himself in front of Fleur Delacour, and he most certainly didn't count that), but the mere thought of it made his stomach churn. He glanced at Hermione. How could she sit here and talk about these things like it was no big deal? It sounded like she'd been through things like this countless times before. Ron felt an involuntary pang of jealousy. Was that it? Was that how she knew? Could _Vicky _have taught her?

"Oh well," Hermione said, once again returning to her letter. "You'll have plenty of opportunities to ask her."

Ron studied her for another moment. What was it with Hermione and _asking _things? Something that had taken place here, in this room, almost exactly a year earlier flashed through his mind. _"…ask me before someone else does, and not as a last resort."_ He still hadn't really figured out what she'd meant by that. And he still hadn't asked her. Not that there was a Yule Ball to ask anyone to this year, but there were other things to ask, other questions. Such as, what the hell did she want him to do? Nothing he did seemed to be right. And what if he wasn't even… What if he didn't even… Then there was nothing to ask about, really.

Ron turned to look at Harry. "What if he doesn't want to ask her?" he said, more to himself than to anyone else.

The rasping quill-against-parchment sound stopped for a moment before continuing. "Don't be silly," Hermione replied rather quietly. "Harry's liked her for ages, haven't you, Harry?"

Harry didn't answer, and neither did Ron. But he knew she was right. There was no point in denying it, really. He'd liked her for ages, and was only now beginning to realise exactly how much. Not that he would be caught dead saying it out loud, though. Not to anyone. It was scary enough admitting it to himself. And besides, what was the point? It was clear that he stood no chance. He had no idea what all her insinuations and implications meant, but it was all too clear that they weren't any form of invitation. So he would just stay silent. Keep it in. Anything else would be completely stupid.

He peered at her parchment, trying to make out what was written. "Who're you writing the novel to, anyway?" he asked, although he knew the answer all too well. For some ridiculous reason he wanted to hear her _say _it, confirm his worst fears.

And she did. "Viktor," she replied, sounding almost defiant.

He couldn't help himself. "_Krum?_" he asked, sounding as if uttering the name made him physically ill. And it did, in a way.

"How many other Viktors do we know?"

Oh, funny. Really funny. Of course they only knew _one._ And in Ron's opinion that was one too many. He didn't reply, just returned to his essay and continued to work on it. He grunted and sighed and impatiently snorted his way through it, until it was finally finished. By that time the fire had almost gone out and the common room was empty, except for the three of them. Hermione was finished with her letter, and rolled it up neatly before rising out of her chair.

"Well, night," she said with a formidable yawn. Ron could've sworn she stole a furtive glance at him before making her way up the girls' staircase. He gave an inaudible little sigh. What was she doing? Was she trying to make him completely crazy? 'Cause that was where he was heading. All these cryptic remarks and accusations of insensitivity and inability to nurture complex emotions; the letters to Krum; the way she tossed her hair over her shoulder, looking indignant when he annoyed her; her eyes when she yelled at him or laughed at his jokes; the way her mouth would pout when…

He shook his head and felt a flush creeping up his cheeks. _Damn._ Where did all these thoughts come from? What was she _doing _to him? She was _Hermione,_ he really shouldn't… 

And still, he did.

He sighed. It was hopeless. Irritating. _She _was irritating. And her bloody letters to bloody Krum were extremely _bloody _irritating.

He got up from his position on the rug and started making his way towards the boys' staircase. Harry followed right behind him. As they climbed the stairs, Ron's frustration was so vast and ready to burst inside him that he couldn't help but let a little bit of it out.

"What does she see in Krum?" he asked the steps and sounded a lot angrier than he'd intended. He was surprised to hear Harry answer; he hadn't meant it as a question to _him, _but Harry seemed to think through his reply.

"Well," he said, "I s'pose he's older, isn't he… and he's an international Quidditch player…"

Ron didn't want to hear any pro-Krum arguments. "Yeah, but apart from that," he said. "I mean, he's a grouchy git, isn't he?"

"Bit grouchy, yeah," Harry replied distantly, his mind obviously elsewhere.

Mildly satisfied with this vague acknowledgement of Krum's downsides, Ron changed into pyjamas and climbed into bed. But it took a long time before he managed to fall asleep.


	2. Part 2

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A/N: Here's part two (duh). I should say that this first segment (the one in italics) was actually supposed to go at the end of the previous chapter, but I didn't realise that until right now :) Anyway, you get the picture. Maybe I'll fix it someday, but for now, I'll keep it like this.

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Disclaimer: Same as in the previous chapter.

~*~

__

Honestly, Ron. You are such an idiot. Snickering and punching the air like that. Like the fact that Harry's kissed someone is the joke of the year. That's all these things are to you, aren't they? Jokes. Laughing matters. You can't ever have a serious conversation without throwing in a joke or two. Or an insult. Look, now you've made Harry all worried that he's a terrible kisser. As if Cho would start crying just because Harry wasn't any good at kissing. As if anyone _would start crying over something as trivial as that. But you wouldn't know, would you? I bet you've never cried in your life._

What? What is it? Why are you looking at me like that? Surely you can't… I mean, you wouldn't think I'd… kissed _Harry, would you? Like I ever would! I'm not like Parvati or Lavender or any of those other hysterically giggling girls, I wouldn't ever kiss someone for the sheer fun of it, and especially not Harry. I thought you'd know by now; that I'm not like them. But I can't say I'm surprised you haven't picked up on it. "Hermione, you're a girl…" Honestly. That must've been one of the most stupid things you've ever said. And there are many to choose from, trust me. Just as there are many things that have passed you by without your noticing it. Sometimes I wonder if you're doing it on purpose, if you're just pretending to be this ignorant and blind. I want to think so. I want to think that you see it, just like I do, that… Well, you know._

Don't look at me like that. Don't tell me you were actually hurt_ by that. Because, honestly Ron, sometimes I really do think you've got the emotional range of a teaspoon. Or something even smaller. Anyway, it's for your own good. You need a good wake-up call every now and then. Although my calls never really seem to wake you up. When _are _you going to wake up, Ron? Do you know?_

Oh, of course you don't know.

Sometimes I wish I could just walk up to you and do something really drastic, like grab your shoulders, shake you around for a bit, and then shut that annoying mouth of yours in a way that I think would be highly efficient. I wonder what you'd do. I like to think you'd kiss me back; prove my suspicions in a way that you never could with words. Because sometimes words seem to inhibit you. Maybe if you'd just go act _on it, you wouldn't have such a hard time expressing things. But then again, sometimes you act on things a bit too quickly, and I know I've reprimanded you for it a number of times._

I wish you'd act quickly now, though.

And here we are, having one of those hidden conversations again. I know _you want to ask me, Ron. And I know _I_ want you to ask me. Don't you see that? What am I doing wrong? What should I do differently to make you understand? Last year, after the Yule Ball, it felt like I'd revealed _everything_, made everything clear, but obviously I hadn't, 'cause you didn't do anything. And this year's no different. You're not _doing _anything. And I feel like I'm doing things all the time, only you're not picking up on them._

Like right now. It's the same as always. You just narrow your eyes and say "Krum?", like it makes you sick to the stomach, but you don't do anything. I hope it does_ make you sick. I hope you're up all night in fevers and abdominal pains just because you hate Viktor so much._

Oh, who am I kidding? Of course I don't hope that. All I want is for you to say something nice, for a change. I know you can, you've done it before. Why can't you see that I'm only writing to Viktor because I'm hoping you'll react? Why can't you see that? And why can't you react unexpectedly for once? Not the Krum's-a-git-routine, 'cause that's getting rather old. Why can't you just step up to me and somehow show me that you're better than him, show me that it's you, _not him, I should be writing novel-length letters to? _

Me? I already know it's you. And I know you're better. So why can't you just believe it yourself and show me?

__

You're hopeless, Ron, you know that? Perfectly hopeless.

That's it, I'm going to bed. It didn't work today either. You didn't get it. So I'll just go up to my dormitory and marvel some more at how dense you can be sometimes. 

Oh, don't look at me like that. I hate it when you do. I hate how your hopelessly blue eyes make my stomach lurch and my spine tingle, because I know you haven't understood today either, and for all I know you'll never understand. I'll just keep on dropping countless hints and clues and you won't ever get it.

Oh, honestly. Why do I even bother?

~*~

Hermione tiptoed down the stairs, flinching every time the steps creaked under her. It seemed to her that everything in Grimmauld Place creaked, even if it wasn't wooden. Everything just creaked and whined and sounded as if it hated being here, which it most likely did.

She tried to make herself as light as possible as she made her way down the entrance hall. She couldn't help but stick out her tongue at the curtain concealing Mrs Black's portrait before closing the remaining distance to the staircase leading down to the kitchen.

Tip-toeing just as lightly as she'd done going down the other staircase, Hermione reached the kitchen and was pleased to find that it was empty. Although she hadn't really expected anyone else to be there, seeing as it was two o'clock in the morning and everyone was, most likely, sound asleep.

She walked up to the table and sat down, then retrieved a parchment and a quill from the pocket of her dressing gown. It would've been better if she'd been able to write her letter on Muggle-manufactured paper and just send it in an envelope, but there were no such goods in this house, so she'd have to make do with this. Besides, her parents ought to be used to owls pecking at the windows by now. They'd know what to do.

It was silly, really, that she felt she had to wait until everyone was asleep to write the letter. But there were always so many people running around in this house, so much noise and commotion, and she really wanted to write something meaningful to her parents. Not the regular old "Everything's great, we're all well, I miss you heaps…" No, this time she felt she really had to make it sound true, and full of meaning, because she'd given up vacation with them again, and they'd been supportive and understanding, as always, but she knew they weren't entirely happy about it. So she owed them this much at least.

She'd written no more than "Dear Mum and –" when she heard one of those characteristic, whining noises that the staircase made when someone actually had the audacity to use it. Looking up, she saw Ron entering the kitchen, and the sight of him made her heart skip a beat.

He looked positively adorable. His striped pyjamas were a few sizes too small, and a worn robe hung haphazardly across his shoulders. He was squinting sleepily at her and pulled a hand through his hair, making it stand even more on end than it had before.

"Hey," he said and yawned widely before making his way over to the table. Hermione just looked at him, perplexed. What was he doing up?

"What are you doing up?" Ron asked her then, echoing her own thoughts as he pulled out a chair and sat down.

"Oh, I'm just…" she began, but didn't finish the sentence. Instead she discreetly removed the parchment and quill from the table. Ron didn't notice, as his eyes were currently closed. For a moment she thought he'd fallen asleep, but then he spoke.

"Trouble sleeping, eh?"

Hermione looked at him, considering for a moment telling him the truth, but then settled on a little white lie. "M-hm," she said.

"Me too," Ron mumbled, which wasn't as much a white lie as it was a blatant one, seeing as his eyes were still closed and he was obviously working hard to avoid falling asleep right there and then.

"It doesn't seem like you're having any trouble now," Hermione pointed out. "Maybe you should go back to bed."

At this, Ron opened his eyes and eyed her sleepily. "Do you want me to go?" he asked.

The answer to this was definitely no – his mere presence made her whole body tingle pleasantly – but instead of revealing this she shrugged, saying "Do as you please."

And apparently he felt like staying, because he didn't rise from his seat. Rubbing a hand over his eyes, he yawned again and leaned back against the backrest of his chair. "This bloody house," he muttered. "It's just too creepy."

That was, in Hermione's opinion, the understatement of the year.

"Sometimes," Ron continued, "I can swear I hear it _talking_. Whispering, you know?"

Hermione frowned. "About what?"

Ron shrugged. "Dunno. It's just a feeling I have." He looked around, almost apprehensively, before adding, "I mean, it's nasty, don't you reckon?"

"I suppose so."

They fell into a short silence, in which Hermione realised that she hadn't talked to Ron alone since she'd arrived here a few days ago, so there were subjects that had yet to be dealt with. She glanced at him before speaking.

"Ron, I'm sorry about your dad." She winced at how timid her voice sounded.

Ron looked at her, and something odd flickered in his eyes. Shrugging, he replied, "It's okay. I reckon he's gonna be alright."

"Yes, but…" She wanted to say something more, but didn't know how to formulate her thoughts. She wanted to tell him how terrified she'd been when she'd heard of it, how desperately she'd wanted to join them and see how they were, how much she'd thought about them all – Ron especially – and how much she'd worried.

"It must've been awful," she finally said quietly, looking down.

Ron snorted. "Well, I wouldn't know," he said in an uncharacteristically cool voice. "Me and my teaspoon emotions weren't all too affected."

Hermione's head snapped up and something cold enveloped her heart as she saw the bitter look on his face. He couldn't have… Or could he? Could he really have thought she meant something by that?

Clearly, the answer was yes.

"Oh, Ron," she managed finally. "I didn't _mean _anything… I swear I didn't. I mean, that was just something…"

"Something you've wanted to say to me for a long time, I'll bet."

"No! It was just… I was _frustrated…_ And you were… I just wanted to…" But she couldn't explain what she'd wanted to achieve with her words.

Ron looked anything but convinced. "It's alright, Hermione," he said. "It's better you tell me now than that I'll find out later, right?"

"Ron, _hon_estly…"

"No, really. I mean, this way, I'll have a chance to maybe _expand _my emotional range, before it's too late. Maybe there's a book on the subject, you know, a do-it-yourself kind of thing? Hey, maybe _you_ could give it to me! Wouldn't _that _be the perfect Christmas gift?"

Hermione just stared at him, her mouth hanging open. She shook her head in disbelief. "I can't believe you took it like that," she said. "We say things like that to each other _all the time, _and you've never reacted like this before."

Ron narrowed his eyes at her and raised his index finger, clearly wanting to make a point. "We do _not _say things like that to each other all the time," he said angrily. "Do we bicker? Yes. Do we jokingly make jabs at each other now and then? Absolutely. But do we shoot vicious, unprovoked insults at each other just for the fun of it? I don't _think _so."

And then he did something she was thoroughly unprepared for: he placed his head in his hands and sighed dejectedly. Hermione watched him, concerned and highly mystified.

"Ron?" she said anxiously. "I…"

"I'm sorry," he muttered, interrupting her. "I didn't mean to get all worked up like that. I just…"

Sighing again, he leaned his cheek in one hand and let the fingers of his other hand tap absently at the table.

"You know," he began, not looking at her, "when we sat here, waiting for someone to come and tell us how Dad was, I…" He took a pause and swallowed hard. "I was _so scared, _you know? I mean, completely bloody terrified. The longer it went, the more certain I got that he was… that he hadn't… well, you know."

Hermione knew, and felt a lump form in her throat at his words. She felt like reaching out and grabbing his hand, but knew that she couldn't. Instead she silently urged him to continue.

"It was the worst I've ever felt. The most scared I've ever been. I mean, gigantic chess boards, bloodthirsty Acromantulas, malicious Death Eaters… that's all just _peanuts_ compared to what this felt like. I thought… I mean, it felt… It felt like there was something huge and cold and dark lying in my stomach, and it was just eating away at my insides, like it wanted nothing more than to see me go completely crazy. And I couldn't _do _anything. I could just sit there, and wait, and everything was so bloody silent, 'cause no one wanted to say anything, and there were so many thoughts flying through my head… I remembered so much about my Dad during those hours; things I haven't thought about since I was a kid. And I imagined what it would feel like, if he would… If he was gone. I thought I was going to go insane, everything was just a mess, and half the time I didn't even know what I was thinking, or feeling, because it was all just a huge, bloody_ mess._"

He paused at this, and Hermione felt the lump in her throat grow even bigger. She swallowed hard and dug her fingernails into her hands, desperate to keep herself from crying.

"And you know what the strangest, most stupid thing was?" Ron continued quietly. "Somewhere in the middle of all that, where everything was dark, and messy, I came to think of what you'd said. And I thought to myself, Hermione doesn't _know. _She _can't_ know. Because if she had _any _idea…"

At this, he looked up at her and her stomach churned at the look in his eyes. "And I wanted you to be there," he continued, his voice barely audible now. "As stupid and strange and completely ruddy _wrong _it was to think something like that at that time, I wanted you to be there, just so you could see that I wasn't…" He took a deep breath, as if gathering strength to finish. "That I'm not insensitive. That I can _feel_."

The silence that followed his words was so thick it could've been cut with a knife. Hermione just stared at him, her eyes brimming with tears and her heart swelling with all kinds of emotions.

"Oh, Ron," she said, and a sob escaped her. "I'm so, so sorry! I didn't mean… And I _know_ that you're… Oh, I wanted to be here, too, I really did! The minute I heard what had happened, I wanted to come over here and see how you were, but they wouldn't let me, and I just… I just cried and cried, 'cause I was scared, too, I was _terrified, _and I wanted to see you and talk to you, but they wouldn't… And no one told me anything, I couldn't…"

She trailed off, shaking her head and crying freely now. Ron's expression was one of equal alarm and concern. "S'alright," he said. "I mean, he's gonna be okay. I'm sure of it."  
And then his big hand reached out and awkwardly patted her small one on the table. The physical contact made her spine tingle, and she couldn't resist the impulse to turn her hand over and give his a quick squeeze, while she dried her eyes on the sleeve of her dressing gown.

The tips of Ron's ears turned a telltale red as he carefully withdrew his hand and gave her a lop-sided smile. "All I'm saying is, I don't think there's anything to worry about anymore," he mumbled, clearly flustered.

Hermione looked down. "I know. But I _do _worry. About all of you. And when I don't know how you are… Oh, it's just terrible."

She turned her gaze up and met Ron's blue eyes again. There was something there, in his eyes… Something she'd wanted to see for so long, something she'd seen flashes of sometimes during their arguments, or when they were laughing together over something utterly stupid… And she suddenly felt rather assured, if not of his feelings, then at least of the fact that there was _something. _And _something, _vague as it may be, seemed good enough for now, because it had the potential of becoming not just _something, _but something great, and wonderful, and positively astounding. So all these feelings could wait. She could keep them in a little longer. There was no rush. But she felt in her heart that _some_day, she was going to have to let it out. There was no escape; the ending was inevitable. She saw that now. But for some reason, she wanted to savour this uncertainty, revel in the _maybes_ and _what ifs_ and allow herself to daydream. Because underneath it all, there was now this sudden security; she could look into Ron's eyes and see a flicker of _something_, which would sooner or later turn into a world of wonder.

She knew that now. And this notion gave her the courage to look Ron straight in the eye and say, in a perfectly even voice, "I think I have to make this clear: I _know_ you can feel. I _know_ you're not insensitive. And I know your emotional range is bigger than a teaspoon."

Ron's face flushed slightly, but he looked rather pleased. "Thanks," he said. "Although, I have to commend you for your choice in words. I mean, that's a quotable, if I ever saw one. Teaspoon. Bloody brilliant. Maybe we can use it on Malfoy one day."

She couldn't help but laugh. "Maybe," she said.

At that moment, Ron yawned widely and stretched his long arms over his head. "Ruddy hell," he said when he was finished. "I'm just about ready to pass out. Maybe I should get to bed."  
Hermione smiled. "That sounds like a good idea."

He rose from his seat and made for the staircase, but stopped halfway there and turned around. "Aren't you coming? I mean—" here, the tips of his ears turned red again, "—not with me, but, you know, to your own bed, or…"

Hermione felt herself blush as well at these words. "Oh. No, I think… I think I'll just stay for a while."

Ron nodded. "Right. And finish the letter?"

Hermione was utterly startled. How had he known about the letter? Hadn't she hidden it before he'd been able to see it? "What? I don't…"

He grinned at her. "Oh, come on. How dense do you think I am? Sneaking off with a quill and a parchment in the middle of the night? You were either writing a letter or doing something school-related, and frankly, I don't think even _you_ are crazy enough to do homework at two o'clock in the morning during the holidays. So, I figured it was a letter."

Hermione sighed. "Fine. If you _must_ know, I _was _writing a letter. And yes, I _would _like to finish it before going back to bed."

Ron nodded and gave her another grin. "Fair enough. All I wanted was some honesty." He turned and walked over to the staircase, but had only put one foot on the bottom step when he turned again, looking almost worried. "Who's it for?" he asked, his voice sounding oddly constrained. "I mean, the letter."

Hermione eyed him for a moment. She knew that by lying a little and telling him it was for someone else than it actually was, she could make him go back to bed irritated and frustrated, and dwelling on things that were likely to keep him from sleep for another couple of hours. But suddenly this – an opportunity that she would have jumped at only days earlier – didn't seem quite as appealing anymore. So instead, she smiled at him and said, "My parents."

Ron's evident relief almost made her laugh out loud. It was amazing how he could be so scared of voicing certain thoughts, and at the same time have a body that never failed to give him away. She wondered if he was aware of it. "Oh," he said. "Alright. Well, tell them hi from me, then." Mumbling a "Goodnight", he turned and slowly began ascending the staircase, leaving Hermione to herself in the silence of the dark kitchen.

She smiled to herself and pulled out the parchment once again, but didn't continue writing. Maybe the letter could wait a couple of days. Maybe she could just allow herself to sit here in the silence and think for a while.

Yes, she decided. That was what she would do.

Just think for a while.

~*~

__

Honestly, Hermione. What are you trying to do to me? I swear, sometimes I think it's intentional. When you give me one of those looks… Bloody hell. It's like you know. _But you _can't _know, can you? I mean, it's not like I know what you… Although, sometimes it's like there's something hidden there, something in your eyes that's talking to me even if you're not saying anything. _

Oh, shoot me, please. I'm sounding like one of those daft prats in Mum's cheesy novels.

I have to say, I was worried you were going to say "Krum" back there. I don't know, but finding out you were writing a secret letter to him in the middle of the bloody night wouldn't exactly have made me whoop with joy. It's better that you do that when I'm around, so I'm there to inform you of his negative attributes. Although I'd say he's pretty much one big negative attribute, that one. 

The git. He doesn't deserve you.

Ruddy hell. I don't know what to do with this. It just keeps on getting worse and worse. Or better. Frankly, I'm not sure which one it is. All I know is that when you give me one of those looks, _you might as well just punch me in the gut or slap me in the face, because the effect's just about the same. Everything spins and tiny little stars pop up everywhere._

I can't wait 'til you look at me like that again.

The way you reacted when I told you about my Dad, about waiting for news about him… Damn. I mean, you cried. _My words actually made you cry. And you said you'd wanted to be here. With me. Well, with all of us, but that includes me._

I really, really wanted you to be here. I wanted it so much it's not even funny. I kept thinking that if you'd been there, I would've… Well, I would've… Oh, I don't know what I would've done. 

I just missed you like crazy, is all.

Damn it. What are you doing _to me? I swear, sooner or later, this will make me completely, bloody insane. _You _will make me insane. It's already taking me over, I reckon. 'Cause every time you look at me like _that, _I have to suppress these weird urges to walk up to you and do something crazy, like touch that wild hair of yours, or find out exactly how much taller I am than you by standing really, really close._

Insane. That's what you're making me, Hermione. Insane, and messy inside, but not in the horrible way that Dad's accident did. In some other way, which I can't really describe.

I reckon it's a good way, though.

And I swear, one of these days I won't be able to keep it in anymore.

****

~The End~

A/N: There. Done. I must say, those thought-rant-thingies were fun to write. Maybe I'll do some more of them. Anyway, hope you liked it, and please leave a quick/medium-length/elaborate review to let me know what you thought!


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